"LUIGI! LUIGI!", she screams across the expansive visitor area. Fran comes up quickly from behind and wraps her arm around mine, pinches my ass and coos, "Luigi? Who the hell is Luigi?"
I bark, "drop it" and move into my Mama's arms. She's crying and going on and on -- instantly telling me how thin I am. Where's Papa? Somewhere still on the plane, probably finishing up the article in American Airlines Magazine. He travels so little, he hates to get off the airplane. Loves airplane food and is the ideal traveler for the poor, overworked flight service managers.
Mama informs me Papa is a little airsick and still onboard. Then she breaks the embrace, spies Fran and practically breaks Fran's back in an enormous Portuguese bear-hug. Fran is laughing hysterically, but can't breathe. I breathe though, a huge sigh of relief... suddenly I feel like Whitney Houston in "Waiting To Exhale" and I exhale. I go onboard to find Papa while Mama drills Fran about why she doesn't wear a little makeup....
We're in the car heading to the airport Denny's (because the food on the plane was not substantial, according to Papa). I offered to take them to a nice cafe in Santa Monica, they refused with, "keepa your money, keepa your hard-earned dollars, Luigi." And Mama leans in and whispers real loud, "Buy this girl some makeup with all your money, Luigi."
Fran's head is spinning 'round and 'round and we're still on the first hour of my new movie:
"Eric and Fran's Excellent Adventure"
Not thinking -- and I mean really not thinking, I pull onto Santa Monica Boulevard -- to get to the house. It's a hot, sunny, winter afternoon and the nearer we get to Sports Connection (excuse me, I mean Sports Erection), the more hot, half-clad men are walking the sidewalk to and from workouts.
Men in short shorts, no shirts, men in spandex, men in bikini running attire, men, men, MEN MEN MEN MEN MEN....
Fran grabs my hand and comforts me a little, I pull off the road and Mama says, "Oh, Luigi I forgot how health-conscious Californians are." Fran chimes in with, "we all are, Mrs. Espinosa. You stay a little longer, we'll get you and your husband into an aerobics class."
They all laugh, including me at the thought of Mama Espinosa in spandex. Mama's enchanted with Fran, even though I know in her heart of hearts, she's just glad Fran doesn't have a dick.
Papa grunts and smiles, seems to be having a good vacation already. We head nearer and nearer my home.
And Andrew.
